It has been quite the few weeks...

Last time I wrote here my Dad was in hospital and we were quietly optimistic that he'd make it through. We got a call on the Thursday, saying his condition had deteriorated and that we should get to the hospital sooner, rather than later. Claire and I got straight in our cars and went to the hospital to sit with him.

We sat with him all day Thursday, reluctantly went back to the bungalow that evening and returned to the hospital the next day and did the same. We watched him breathe, each time there was a pause wondering if this was the last breath he would take, praying that he might pass soon to save him any suffering and pain. He hung on through Saturday and Sunday, finally passing just after my sister left the hospital late that night. My big-hearted, cuddly Forever Friends bear of a Pops is no longer with us.

He had a good life, full of love and laughter - even if it didn't always have lots of money and ease. He found and married the love of his life, and together they had me and my big sister, who then gave them the best gift ever - two gorgeous granddaughters. We had the funeral on Monday, and we all agreed that it was wierd (not having anyone but us there especially as Dad was such a gregarious and well-loved man, because of the coronavirus restrictions) but lovely. The girls both spoke, Iris about the time she spent with her Grandad, and Gertie a beautiful poem she had written back in April that had made Dad a bit emotional (which wasn't that unusual as he grew older!)

I don't know if it has quite sunk in yet, but I know I will miss his laugh, his hugs, and how much he loved me. He would have been the very best source of advice to call on as we renovated our house in France and would have been delighted to be of use to me in that way. I just wish I'd asked more, even before there was a project, to learn from him so I'd feel a little less daunted by it all now!

Still, he will be looking down on Aidan and me and laughing as we try and fix our lovely old French house - which we have put an offer on today.

And to those of you who are observant, no that isn't the house by the lake in the last blog post. That is a whole different story of loss - or rather incompetence and frustration!

I woke up on Saturday 23rd May, and checked my emails, only to find that there was one from the estate agent, who was replying to a gentleman who had enquired about the house and put in an offer on the same day that we had and who was chasing it up to find out if the offer had been accepted. Our offer was higher, but I realised that the agent must have thought we were connected, as otherwise why would he have copied me in on this email? I tried to query it with him, but as it turned out I was too late. He had already accepted the offer on behalf of his client, thinking it was my husband he was dealing with!

Not surprisingly, I was furious and rattled off a few very tersely worded (in French emails), but French property buying is a peculiar thing, once an offer has been accepted, that is it. There was no recourse, and all I got was a measly 'sorry'. We had done everything he asked us, had arranged a local builder to go in and view the porperty as he hadn't wanted to accept an offer without our seeing the property - or someone doing it on our behalf. We lost out, because we did what he wanted - and then he accidentally gave our dream house away to someone else.

So, we lost our lakeside retreat, and I don't know if that morning I was more sad about that, or that the nurse in charge on Dad's ward was back and insisted that we choose a designated visitor - as it turned out, our both being with him on the Thursday and Friday had been against the rules. I do know I got pretty tearful! It was quite a weekend.

My sister has already had Covid-19, and I am in the group just below the complete shielding one, so as she was the least at risk, we decided that it was to be her. I cannot tell you how frustrating it was to have to sit around in Mum and Dad's bungalow, just waiting for news.

So, I ignored my exhausted, over-adrenalized body that really needed a rest, and I started to clear out their office - which had been on my to-do list since Mum went into the care home. It is a tiny room, but she really had packed in a lot of stuff. I completely filled up both the normal bin and their recycling bin. I was pretty proud of the results! (The tins on the side came home with me)

The next day, I cleared out their wardrobes, and the drawers under their beds, mainly looking for Mills and Boon books to take to put on Freecycle, but found all sorts of bits of paperwork and other stuff that should have been thrown away years ago. It kept me busy, and I found some lovely bits and pieces, cards and pictures from their wedding, sympathy cards from when my grandparents had died and mementoes from holidays. It was emotional, happy and sad in equal measure and it helped me not to just stare at my phone waiting for news from Claire.

When the call came just before midnight on Sunday night, Claire had barely been back half an hour. They let us both go back and see him. He looked so peaceful, the lines on his forehead were gone, and he was no longer gasping for breath (he had problems with his sinuses and his chest for years). It felt like a weight had lifted, that he no longer had to keep on fighting, to try not to be a burden to us all (he never was, but I know he thought that he was). We held his hand, stroked his cheeks and brushed his flyaway white hair off his face, kissed him one last time and went back to the bungalow to drink a bottle of good wine together and talk about what a great Dad he had been.

In between his passing and the funeral, I had too much time on my hands and I wasn't ready to face things. My body went into overdrive - I felt almost 'normal' and I did a lot of gardening and furniture restoration. I compiled a letter to go out to friends and family, and I ate a lot of Magnums, crisps and Toffecrisps in an attempt to not feel, to not let my body crash. I almost made it all the way to the funeral - but this Sunday I collapsed in a heap and when I woke on Monday with a migraine I feared I wouldn't make it to the funeral at all. But, the adrenaline thankfully kicked back in, and I made it.

Our celebrant was amazing, she and my nieces gave him a wonderful send off, and finally I felt able to cry and let some of the rigid control I'd had to put in place go. Not surprisingly, I've spent the last two days predominantly in bed, and will probably do the same for the rest of the week.

But, this week has also brought good news. Our builder went to see this lovely house, and gave it the thumbs up! No structural issues, or problems with the roof! It is going to need complete renovation, but that is going to be fun. The house is a 10 minute drive into the nearest large village, and the same to the most gorgeous lake (even nicer than the one we almost bought by).

It has space for us to grow, and to set up a B&B, or to create a gite, if we need to (if Aidan can't get the consultancy work he's hoping to get - we really hope this working from home thing now is going to work in our favour!) But it is in a peaceful hamlet, where you can hear the birds sing, with a farm just opposite and land and space all around us. It is truly idyllic, and I know that we will make the house as beautiful as its surroundings.

After more than 25 years of rental properties, where I couldn't change a thing without getting permission first, I will finally be able to create a real home for Aidan and me. I just hope Bob will be able to learn French easily so he can enjoy his new life in the French countryside!